


People Watching

by RaceyBoi



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:06:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaceyBoi/pseuds/RaceyBoi
Summary: Spot is stuck at the mall waiting for Finch to pick him up when a handsome stranger comes by and asks if he wants to people watch.





	People Watching

Spot sighed as he sat down. For a second, he closed his eyes and simply breathed. Today was a mess and all he wanted was to go to the secluded rocks by the shore and take a nap while listening to the waves. Instead, he was sitting in a rest area of a stuffy mall that was too loud and too bright.

He checked his phone just in time to catch another text come in from Finch. He dragged his hand down the side of his face and rubbed at his eyes. It wasn't Finch’s fault that there was traffic making him late, but that wasn't going to stop Spot from being annoyed about it.

When he stopped rubbing his eyes, he saw a boy about his age walking towards him. Spot took a deep breath and repeatedly thought ‘Don’t sit down, don’t sit down, don’t sit down’. He let out an annoyed sigh when the kid plopped onto the seat next to him.

“Hey,” the guy smiled, “I’m pissed and you look like an asshole. Wanna judge people with me?”

Spot blinked, unsure if this guy really had the audacity to say that. He looked him over to find no sign of remorse and every sign that he was genuinely waiting for an answer.

“Alright, I’ll judge.” Spot said slowly, shamelessly looking the guy up and down. He was cute, but he also just called him an asshole. “Your shirt looks dumb and you’re a dick.”

The guy snorted, “Your shirt looks dumber and I’m actually a Race.”

Spot raised his eyebrows, almost convinced that this guy was a figment of his exhausted imagination. He opened his mouth to argue against his shirt being called dumb, but was hung up on the fact that this kid just called himself a race.

The guy caught sight of his confusion and kept talking. “Racetrack Higgins, my friends call me Race.”

Now Spot was genuinely convinced that this guy, who was apparently named Racetrack, wasn't real. He scoffed, “There’s no way your parents hate you enough to name you Racetrack.”

Race admitted it was a nickname and readjusted himself on the small couch. “So are you going to judge people with me or not? I had a shit day and everyone knows judging people by yourself is an asshole move. Judging people with someone else, however, is bonding.”

A smug smile spread across his face and Spot leered at him while thinking over the situation. This guy, Race, was apparently having as miserable a time as Spot and his first thought upon seeing Spot had to be something along the lines of ‘That guy must be enough of a dick to like poking fun at strangers’. He thought how intimidating he looks sitting down and how Race must have taken his chances that Spot wouldn't punch him in the face for calling him an asshole. 

Spot checked his phone, still another 45 minutes till Finch gets here. He sighed, declaring himself tired and bitter enough to people watch with a random stranger. “You always bond with strangers in the mall?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Spot snorted. Race was clearly bold, but he didn't think he was that bold. “Call me an asshole and then tell me I’m pretty, aren't you just the charmer?”

Race shrugged, “I save my best lines for pissed off mall-goers, what can I say? So are you going to be judgmental with me or not, pretty boy?”

“Sure.” Spot nodded, “I’ll talk shit with you. I’ll also tear your tongue out if you call me Pretty Boy again.”

Race laughed, a sound sweeter than Spot would admit. A small smile tugged at his lips, “Call me Spot.”

For the next half hour, they laughed and gave fake lives to strangers based on their appearance. One guy was declared to be a top secret hacker who lives underground while another girl was assigned the title of “secret goddess”. A person rushing by was late for his appointment to crack open a cold one with the boys and a guy with nice hair visits the wig shop daily. A brunette girl was the head cheerleader and dating the star of the girl’s volleyball team and an older woman would be the wise elder character who doesn't actually make any sense in a Disney movie.

They whispered scenarios to each other, some way more offensive than others, and stopped trying to hide their laughs.

“The guy that just walked by on the left with the blue jacket.” Race muttered, a dumb smile on his face, “He’s the FBI agent searching for the tech guy from before.”

Spot scoffed, “His hair is too messy. Try the tech guy’s cooler partner in crime who’s reckless on the job and picks up girls at bars.” He paused, “The girl walking towards us in the pink. She’s the undercover agent.”

Race’s eyes flickered to the girl then back to Spot. “Shit, you’re right.”

“You’re an amateur at this, Higgins.”

“Yeah, alright.” Race rolled his eyes, “You’re the one who said clown-kink guy was a bowler hat salesman.”

“I thought we agreed he can be both?” Spot faked annoyance before quickly letting the smile spread across his face. They made a lot of ridiculous stories today, but that was his favorite one and only mildly offensive.

Race shrugged in response. “Yellow shirt walking towards us on the right is a carny.”

Spot glanced over. “He’s looking for the Spring of Youth. Which is lame because he’ll only find dirty fountains here.”

The two chuckled and Spot checked his phone. He stared down at it for a few seconds before letting out a small, barely audible sigh. “Great guesses today, but my ride is going to be here in about five minutes. So I think I’m going to start walking to the doors.”

Race nodded, “Mind if I walk with ya?”

“Knock yourself out.”

They walked together mainly in silence until reaching the front doors. Spot checked his phone before sitting on a nearby bench. Race plopped down beside him.

After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. “Guy in the gray tank top by the vending machines wants to give his number to the boy he just met.”

Spot glanced around to see that they were the only two by the exits. He looked down to realize that Race was talking about him. He clicked his tongue, “Does he now?”

“Oh, totally.” Race stated, stretching his arm along the back of the bench.

Spot cocked his head to the side a little bit and thought everything over. Race really did make being stuck at the mall a hell of a lot less miserable. Plus he was cute and sarcastic. “You know the guy in the red flannel on the bench?”

“What about him?”

Spot took his phone out and pulled up a new contact. “He wants to take the shorter guy out to eat sometime.” He handed his phone to Race, who happily put in his number and shot himself a quick text.

“What about coffee tomorrow? I’ll take you out soon, believe me.” Race grinned, “By the way, a bird texted you.”

Spot dragged his notifications down and saw a “Here!” text from Finch. He stood up. “That's my ride. I’m expecting plans for a coffee date tomorrow. Don't forget em.”

“I’d never.” Race faked hurt.

Spot gave him one last sly grin, grabbed his shopping bag, and left. With a cocky smile, Race saved Spot’s number into his phone and got up. Quickly, he headed back to work. His hour break at Zumies would be over soon.


End file.
